


The Same Thing We Do Every Day

by AnnaBolena



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Doctors and Good Lawyers doing their best, Established Relationship, Fluff-ish?, Its Corona Time, M/M, No this isn't crack I wouldn't do that to y'all, They all live together because this happens in Shits Universe of communal living., its actually me urging people to stay inside and read stupid fics like this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: “Coffee?” Combeferre whispers instead, then adds, “Do you think we’ll wake any of the others if we make ourselves some?”“If there’s anyone asleep after finding out Joly locked the two numbnuts into Enjolras’ room together I’ll eat my favorite pair of shoes.”a.k.a. two days of conversation and plotting in a communal living space.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	The Same Thing We Do Every Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShitpostingfromtheBarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love in the Time of COVID-19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210998) by [ShitpostingfromtheBarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade). 



> hello hello from self-imposed social distancing. hope all of y'all are doing the same. :)  
> upon texting with Shits (@shitpostingfromthebarricade) this fine morning I was told a companion piece to their [Love in the time of Covid-19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210998) fic was wanted, so here it is, hastily scribbled down and glued together by sheer force of will.  
> don't expect too much.

When he wakes up, it is to the faint sound of Combeferre’s snoring, growing less faint with every second he continues to be awake. One check of the alarm clock leaves him silently cursing his internal rhythm for so defying the goals he sets for himself. He meant to wake up at ten - what is he supposed to do during the remaining four and a half hours? Well, there’s always Combeferre...

One glance at the man has him rethinking that particular course of action quickly, because he looks utterly exhausted. A little bit of drool is dried on his chin, his glasses are askew but still half-dangling off of his right ear, and the state of his hair is, quite frankly, terrifying. Courfeyrac takes a swift and drastic measure to bring the glasses to safety, but in doing so, accidentally startles his partner into wakefulness. 

“Wha-”

“Go back to sleep,” coaxes Courfeyrac, making a valiant attempt at soothing noises that unfortunately fail utterly. Combeferre is awake, by now his heart rate is way too fast for him to settle back into slumber. Damn. “It’s only 5:30,” he adds, but Combeferre is already looking much more alert than he has any right to after coming home past midnight. 

“Coffee?” Combeferre whispers instead, then adds, “Do you think we’ll wake any of the others if we make ourselves some?”

“If there’s anyone asleep after finding out Joly locked the two numbnuts into Enjolras’ room together I’ll eat my favorite pair of shoes.”

Combeferre blinks, apparently realizing that he has been divested of his glasses and so cannot correctly judge the facial expression of a man whose tone heavily suggests he is fucking with him. He is, kinda. Courfeyrac hands them over, sparing them both the otherwise ensuing dance to blindly find them on the nightstand. 

"Grantaire is back?"

Courfeyrac nods. Combeferre pulls a considering face, sways his head softly from side to side.

“I hope you like the taste of rubber,” he then announces calmly, once he has wriggled his nose to adjust to the renewed press of the glasses. “Because I don’t hear a thing.”

“But I won’t have to eat them,” explains Courfeyrac patiently, “Because you know well as I do that the vast majority of our friends live for gossip and have probably spent the night engaging in such nefarious activities. The only one of the others that does not is currently quarantined.”

“And you _don’t_ care for gossip?”

“I take care not to pry,” he protests, indignant. “Not saying I don’t absolutely relish when Enjolras comes to speak of his complete and utter ineptitude in dealing with all things R-related - _R-rated_?- I pay attention, I really do. But I don’t pry!” 

“Sure,” hums Combeferre, leaning back, groaning from sore, overworked muscles but nonetheless shifting to more comfortably allow Courfeyrac to incline against him. A selfless man, through and through. What a catch, that Combeferre, he idly thinks to himself. 

“You realize Joly owes you money now?”

Combeferre takes a moment to consider this. “On a technicality,” he decides. “And only if this means they’ll get their shit together. I don’t think it was Joly’s aim to accomplish this, they were driven purely by medical concern. I think I’ll let them off the hook for this one.”

“Very gracious.”

“My good deed for today,” Combeferre chuckles. “And ticked off the list so early in the day, too!”

“Gee, Brain, what are we going to do today?” Asks Courfeyrac, after a while of drawing shapes on his bare skin, tracing tattoos and rather shamelessly delighting in the hums it draws from Combeferre. 

“Same thing we do everyday, Pinky. _Try to save the world_ ,”Combeferre yawns, once more stretching. 

“That’s not how the quote goes,” mumbles Courfeyrac into his chest. “I _knew_ you fell asleep on me while we were watching it last night! Catch me never sharing shows that shaped my childhood with you again.”

A bald-faced lie, but the best attempt at humor he can conjure at the present moment. 

“It did not feel right to say I would attempt to take over the world,” yawns Combeferre. “I did give the government my word I would do no harm.”

“You and your words…”

“My words are better after I’ve had coffee,” he prompts, boring a sharp finger into Courfeyrac’s ribs and thus quickly getting them both out of bed when Courfeyrac bolts upright with a yelp. They both freeze momentarily - Courfeyrac with a hand clapped over his mouth - listening for any disgruntled sounds of rudely awakened housemates. None are to be made out. He visibly watches Combeferre’s tense shoulders go slack as he begins to nudge the both of them out of the room slowly but decidedly. There is never a hurry in his movements, in fact right now they may even be described as taking a leisurely pace, but there is purpose within them nonetheless. 

“Looks like they’re all asleep after all,” Combeferre teases when they run into no one in the kitchen. Like this, the house feels absurdly large. No kitchen this big is supposed to be this unused, so very deserted. For once, even the sink is completely spotless. Someone made an effort with the drain, too! Courfeyrac is delighted. “Bahorel must have been up late catching up on his household points,” observes his partner, running a hand through hair that has gone so stiff from being unwashed it just stands up straight. 

“He even took over Grantaire’s cleaning rotation in exchange for a forfeit on bets number three and eleven,” Courfeyrac confirms. “Wow, this is spotless. Grantaire made a good bargain, as far as I can judge.” 

“Two bets in exchange for one round of cleaning?”

“Joly barred them from leaving the room for at least three days,” Courfeyrac shrugs, “Possibly longer, if they exhibit symptoms.” He begins rummaging around for their favorite beans. “And Bahorel had no hope of winning those bets,” he adds on, as an afterthought. 

“Point,” Combeferre considers. “Which one was the bet about him finishing law school someday?”

“Number one, of course,” Courfeyrac laughs from the depths of the pantry. “As if Grantaire would let him off of that one. Do you know how much is riding on that?”

“I do not,” he hears in response, faint amusement swinging along in the words. “Truth be told I’m wondering how you know all this.”

“I _listen_ ,” Courfeyrac stresses, appearing with a bag of beans in one hand and the grinder in the other, a big smile on his face. He watches with a flutter in his chest as Combeferre shakes with silent laughter, turning away to hide his giddiness so as not to set them off on an inadvisable path to contaminating a recently cleaned kitchen. Wouldn’t want to undo all of Bahorel’s stellar work before those who complained about a previous lack thereof have had the chance to admire it.

“So, how would you like to consume your shoes tonight?” 

“It’s your turn to cook,” Courfeyrac shrugs, throwing a nonchalant glance that is quite obviously faked over his shoulder. As much is definitely apparent to Combeferre, but no call-out follows. “I hope you know how to cook up a good shoe soup.”

Strong arms wrap around him from behind, one or two kisses begin a long trail from his shoulder to his ear, which Combeferre bites playfully before he draws away slightly to say. “If I overcook the seitan I’m sure we could pass it off as rubber and see your vow fulfilled.”

“Ew,” says Éponine with relish when she suddenly appears from her bedroom door. “I need coffee as recompense for having to witness that. In fact I demand a share of the good beans, no lesser beans will scourge it from my eyes.”

“Can’t a man hug another man tenderly from behind in this household without being subject to censorship?” Courfeyrac complains, already getting a third cup for Éponine. From upstairs, Courfeyrac hears a door slam. The house is beginning to wake up. 

“Thanks,” Éponine smiles, blowing stray strands of hair out of her line of vision and never quite succeeding. Glancing towards the stairs, where the previously faint sound of footsteps is growing ever louder, she adds: “Think we better get a few more cups, eh?”

Now this is what a kitchen ought to feel like, Courfeyrac thinks. 

+

“What is that?” Combeferre points at something on the screen in front of Courfeyrac. When he appeared on their balcony, Courfeyrac does not know. He moves silently when he wants to and never fails to delight in startling his partner. At least his presence now gives Courfeyrac something to delight in. His other options for delight are looking rather bleak, presently. 

“Young man, I thought I told you to enjoy your first day off in ages at least until lunch time. There’s no greater hurry to save the world from itself than usual.”

“I think there might be, actually,” Combeferre sighs, wrapping his arms tightly around Courfeyrac’s shoulders. It’s always a comfort, one of his favorite ways to feel another human being, like leaning back against a literal wall of support. “I conferred with Joly over second breakfast.”

“How very tolkienesque of you,” Courfeyrac commends. “Is the good doctor still concerned about Grantaire?”

“Not just Grantaire,” he admits, “They had their first confirmed cases at the hospital today.”

“Ah,” Courfeyrac feels his heart skip a beat. He knows what that means. “We better get a head start on _all_ world-saving activities then. You’ll be cutting your holiday short?”

“They’ll be calling for volunteers soon,” Combeferre muses, but the undertone in his words is not lost on Courfeyrac. “All-hands-on-deck-situation seems imminent.”

“You’re not even a doctor yet,” Courfeyrac sighs. “Can’t you just stay here with me and we’ll have a sexy, sexy quarantine in bed?”

He knows even as he pouts that if Combeferre were to ask the same of him he’d be severely conflicted, so he hastens to add: “I’m kidding. Sorta. Well, I’d love for you to spend a sexy quarantine in our bed, but hey, I get it. World-saving requires sacrifice. We all have our part to play, though your responsibility seems unfairly high.”

Combeferre hums, pressing a firm kiss to his neck. “We’ll see what the next few days bring, okay? I’m accompanying Joly to the hospital tomorrow, for a start. Not making any promises at the moment.” 

Once more pointing to Courfeyrac’s laptop, he reiterates: “You never said what this is.”

“A plan of action, so to speak. Debating with the others at the office if we should lobby for universal basic income or not. Bahorel suggested advocating for something they’re doing in Germany - we may be able to set that up here. In case businesses close, it would allow you to buy IOUs from them now. Take your favorite local bar, for example: You buy a beer now which you can enjoy at an indefinite point in the future. Still looking into the regulations for that, it’s mind-mindbogglingly complicated. I know why I’m doing criminal law after I’m done with courses. Anyway, I’m trying to get a head start; it might become a lot more pressing in the next few days than anyone thought.”

“Historically, we can expect a pandemic to last about two to three years,” Combeferre throws in. “That’s a long time for a government to agree to something it then plans to revoke.” A beat later: “Also a long time to buy your imaginary future beers, but I dig it. Fight the good fight. You think they’ll hear you out?”

“It’s a whole lot better than offering credit and then spending a fuckton of money bailing out exactly those big businesses that don’t need it. Hey, maybe they’ll realize its a sustainable fucking way of running a country,” Courfeyrac shrugs. “Enj always tells us to dream big, so I’m doing it. Wouldn’t catch me complaining if it did end up working. After this thing is over I think all of us need to have a long ass conversation about the sustainability of our way of life anyway, not that I think that's any likelier.” He pauses, turning to look Combeferre in the eye after he has belatedly registered what was said: “You think this has the potential of lasting _years_?”

“If we do nothing to contain the spread of it, um yes, I think I do think that.”

“When’s the last pandemic we’re talking about, anyway? How up to date were we in medicine? If we’re talking Spanish Flu, allow me to protest on behalf of the world that we’ve come a long way from 1918--”

Combeferre shushes him. “We’re not that far from 1968, in fact we may be worse off now due to unfettered capitalism and a market that is consistently given more freedom than actual human beings. Also an accompanying sense of entitlement which many a rich man has cultivated, that really just makes things worse.”

“Hm, I love it when you talk all anti-capitalist to me,” Courfeyrac snaps his teeth, grinning. 

“You think our cher Emmanuel will hold off long on safety measures?” Combeferre wonders out loud. 

“Pray that he does not,” Courfeyrac snorts derisively, “But we know how he prevaricates. One case is nothing, he’ll say, one can easily be contained. We never get anywhere with him, do we?”

He doesn’t have to explain any further to Combeferre. They understand each other. If the government equivocates, it’ll fall to those like Courfeyrac to ensure the financial security of all those left vulnerable by sudden interdictions on business, on the freedoms they claimed before. 

“Do you think Bahorel is awake yet?”

“It’s 11:30,” Combeferre laughs. “What do you think?”

“Point,” hums Courfeyrac. “But it is worth the risk to my personal safety if the common good is at stake. I’m going to wake the beast, there are discussions to be had.” He gets up, presses a swift kiss to Combeferre’s left temple and stuffs the last piece of his apple into his partner’s mouth. 

+

Courfeyrac wakes at the ass-crack of dawn today, and not by choice. His phone is ringing insistently, the bed next to him is empty. “Curse his selflessness,” he grumbles, fishing for the odious device. “Yeah?” 

“I’m staying at the hospital,” he hears Combeferre confirm, without Courfeyrac even having to ask. 

“I thought you might - the bed is terribly empty without you.”

No doubt about it, he would rather be enjoying this wonderful sunrise with someone by his side. Is it worth calling Bahorel into the room under the guise of conferring on legal issues? Probably not. He will have to appreciate it all by his lonesome. 

“Sorry,” says Combeferre, truly sounding it. “I’ll make it all up to you when this blows over.”

“You better be down to blowing me over and over again,” Courfeyrac huffs, half-heartedly, a smile appearing on his face when he hears Combeferre’s low chuckle through the line. “Ugh, sometimes I hate the greater good.”

“Unfortunately, I’m staying here for exactly for that mistress of ours, the greater good. Now you have to make sure others can manage to stay home for _my_ good.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a few ideas to help with that. I’m about to risk my life waking Bahorel up - hope you appreciate that as much as I appreciate you.”

“That’s good,” Combeferre’s tone is slightly regretful now. Courfeyrac can imagine perfectly well that he is currently distractedly nodding to himself, and the thought leaves his heart suffering terrible pangs, wondering when they’ll see each other again. If he’s managed to hog a bed in an on-call room, chances are it’ll be days. Weeks, even, but he’s refusing to think that far ahead. There are other things to concentrate on. What’s important right now is--

“Darling,” asks Combeferre, after a long beat of silence. He continues, voice shaky: “What are we doing today?”

“Same thing we do every day,” Courfeyrac answers, slightly breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell this has been a PSA to love and appreciate your fellow beings in this trying time? 
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr.](http://www.annabrolena.tumblr.com) if you feel like sharing the love, or leave a comment.


End file.
